


He Wouldn't (Would He?)

by waffles_007



Series: Short Ficlets [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffles_007/pseuds/waffles_007
Summary: 'He can't be.' Brent thinks to himself when he hears the rustling coming from Duncan's bed, the almost silent sound of the sheet swishing in perfectly measured beats. 'Nah.' Brent pulls his blanket up a little, tucks it under his chin and settles his head back down comfortably in to the pillow.Swish.Swish.Swish.Brent opens his eyes again, staring at the blank wall that's inches from his face. It shouldn't be distracting, the sound of the sheets, but it is and it's all he can hear now in the practically silent hotel room.Swish.Swish.Swish.'He wouldn't be.' Brent rolls his eyes, shakes his head, it's…it's a ludicrous thought is what it is. He closes his eyes again, concentrates on counting sheep, going over plays in his head.





	He Wouldn't (Would He?)

**Author's Note:**

> Literally 2K of random jerking off for no reason what-so-ever.

'He _can't_ be.' Brent thinks to himself when he hears the rustling coming from Duncan's bed, the almost silent sound of the sheet swishing in perfectly measured beats. 'Nah.' Brent pulls his blanket up a little, tucks it under his chin and settles his head back down comfortably in to the pillow.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

Brent opens his eyes again, staring at the blank wall that's inches from his face. It shouldn't be distracting, the sound of the sheets, but it _is_ and it's _all_ he can hear now in the practically silent hotel room.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

'He _wouldn't_ be.' Brent rolls his eyes, shakes his head, it's…it's a ludicrous thought is what it is. He closes his eyes again, concentrates on counting sheep, going over plays in his head.

_Swish._

_Swish. Swish._

_Swish. Swish._

Brent starts to chuckle. Silently. To himself. The thought is so ridiculous he can't help it.

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

_SwishSwish. Swish._

_SwishSwishSwishSwish._

'He _wouldn't_.' There's no way Duncan's laying less than ten feet away jerking off at—Brent looks under the blanket and checks the time on his watch—just past two in the morning, the glowing numbers tell him.

_SwishSwishSwishSwish._ Pause. _Swish._

Duncan coughs?

Silence.

'Nah.' Brent falls asleep.

=

"So, you, ah…sleep ok last night, Duncs?" Brent asks as he's sitting up, reaching his arms high over his head and stretching before giving his armpit a cursory scratch. "You…sounded a little restless."

"Huh?" Duncan pops his head out from around the doorframe of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of the corner of his mouth, white bubbles starting to drip down his chin.

 

"Did you—" Brent stops, why is he even asking? Like Duncan's going to answer with 'oh, yeah, sorry, I was jerking off—hope I didn't wake you'. "You know what, never mind. You want room service or something? I'm getting an omelet." He hears spitting before Duncan comes out of the bathroom wiping his mouth off on a towel.

"Yeah—same. Double meat." Duncan digs in his suitcase and pulls out a fresh t-shirt and a pair of warmup pants. "I'm starving."

Brent snorts. He doesn't mean to: he really doesn't. It's just the way Duncan says 'double meat' and 'I'm starving' that has Brent trying to hold back a laugh.

"Me being hungry is funny, why?" Duncan mumbles through the fabric of his shirt as he's pulling it over his head.

"Double meat…" Brent tries and shrugs still biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from snickering.

Duncan rolls his eyes. "I—yeah. I don't know about you."

=

It happens again a few days later in Nashville, this time somewhere around one thirty in the morning according to Brent's watch.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

'Seriously?' Brent wraps his pillow around his head and tries not to think about it.

_Swish. Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish.Swish._

Grunt?

Yeah. Brent heard that. Through the pillow. He's compelled to unfold the soft feathers from around his head now. He can't not.

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

_SwishSwishSwishSwish._

_Swish._ Pause. _Swish._

'Are you _kidding_ me?' But Brent keeps listening.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish. Swish. SwishSwishSwishSwish._

Barely audible gasp.

Silence.

=

It happens in Columbus.

Buffalo.

Boston.

=

They have a home stand of games.

Brent lies awake in bed staring at his ceiling. It's really quiet. Really, really, quiet.

'I wonder if he's—' Brent drags his hands down the sides of his face and tells himself to be normal for fuck's sake. These aren't the kinds of things one thinks about when lying in bed at—he checks his watch—three in the morning. Especially about ones' best friend. 'He's probably already done anyway.'

' _What the fuck is wrong with me?'_

=

They're in L.A..

Brent wonders when jet lag stops being a thing. "I'm going to bed."

"It's nine." Duncan's monotone voice wafts over from the other bed where he's crunching on an apple and scrolling through news stories on his iPad.

"It's eleven at home." Brent points out.

"You're soft." Duncan doesn't look up to see Brent giving him the finger.

=

Brent lays there. Lays there some more. He's tired but he can't sleep.

He counts back from 500 slowly, saying Mississippi between each number.

He tries to name as many state capitals as he can and realizes that U.S. geography really isn't his strong suit. He tries it with Canadian provinces. He gets stuck on Regina.

_Swish_.

'Really?' Ten fifteen.

_Swish._

_Swish._

It's hypnotic, really. The steady measured sounds from the sheet rustling almost lull Brent to sleep. Until.

_SwishSwishSwish._

_Swish. Swish._

_Swish._ Pause. _SwishSwishSwish._

'He's close.' Brent balls his fist and hits himself in the head softly a few times to try to push the thought away. 'I shouldn't know _that_.'

_Swish.Swish.Swish.Swish._

'But he is.'

Brent's mind wanders. Is Duncan biting his lip to keep quiet? Is he holding his breath? Is he—'oh my _God_ , stop _thinking_.'

_SwishSwishSwish._

Barely perceptible punched out grunt.

'I bet he looks dumb when he comes.' Brent raps his knuckles against his forehead again.

=

Anaheim.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

Brent's hand wanders down his chest without even thinking about it. It continues down until his fingers are lightly playing along his cock as it lays soft under his sleep pants. It doesn't stay soft for too long.

_Swish/Swish._

_Swish/Swish._

_Swish/Swish._

Brent matches Duncan's slow measured pace.

It's slower than he normally goes. But he doesn't want to draw attention by off-beating the swishes. That is if Duncan's even paying any attention. Which he probably isn't. Because his dick is in his hands. Brent wonders if his brain ever shuts up.

_Swish/Swish._

_SwishSwish/Swish Swish._

'Shit.' Missed a beat. 'Unpredictable bastard.' He probably didn't hear.

Brent's hand tightens a bit. Duncan's getting faster. Brent stares at the wall and bites his lip and flicks his wrist.

_SwishSwishSwish/SwishSwishSwish._

_SwishSwish_ Pause/ _Swish_ Grunt.

_Fuck._

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

_SwishSwishSwishSwish._

Brent lets his breath out when he hears the rustle starting again from the other bed. 'How does he sleep like this?' Brent tries rolling half on his back. Then tries rolling forward. Wet. Sticky. Cold.

Brent waits until twenty minutes goes by and he's sure it's silent over in Duncan's bed. He tiptoes to the bathroom, runs a warm washcloth over his skin, throws on a spare set of boxers. He sleeps like a log and wakes up starving.

=

"What times the bus?" Duncan's rummaging around in his suitcase.

Brent checks his phone. "Eleven."

"What times it now?" He's making two piles with his clothes.

"Eight."

"Cool." He picks up one of the piles and his wallet and leaves. Brent notices it's pretty much a pile of sweatpants and boxers.

Duncan comes back about an hour and a half later with his clothes neatly folded as he tucks them back in to his suitcase.

Brent doesn't laugh. He used the time Duncan was gone to rinse his sleep pants out in the sink. They're not dry. Duncan's a lot smarter than he looks sometimes.

=

"It's too hot." Brent complains and punches the little down arrow on the air conditioner panel a half dozen times.

"It's a dry heat." Duncan comments.

"What's that even mean, 'it's a dry heat _'_?" Brent imitates Duncan's monotone voice. "It's still hot."

"It means there's not much humidi—"

"I _know_ what it means, Encyclopedia Brown."

"You're crabby when you're hot."

"I'm going to bed."

Brent tosses and turns. It's still _hot_. Even with the A/C down as low as it will go, well, as low as Duncan will let him set it, it's still hot.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

'C'mon, he _has_ to know I'm awake.' Brent purses his lips. It's too hot to jerk off.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

'How does he even have a fucking _sheet_. It's a million degrees in here.' Brent's thin hotel blanket and sheet are currently wadded up on the floor where he kicked them off the end of the bed in a huff about ten minutes ago. He's about ten seconds from just stripping off his t-shirt and boxers too but that would mean getting up to get the fucking sheet off the floor. It's too hot to move.

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

Brent's hand is on his dick instead about ten seconds later.

=

Another home stand.

Another quiet, quiet, home stand.

Brent jerks off before bed. It's not really the same.

When did his night life get so fucked up?

It's probably all Duncan's fault.

At least that's what Brent tells himself when he's coming.

=

"You bought a cowboy hat?"

"When in Rome."

"It's Dallas."

"You know what I mean."

=

_Swish/Swish._

_Swish/Swish._

_Swish/Swish._

Brent doesn't think about Duncan wearing the cowboy hat and nothing else when he's jerking off later that night. That's a lie. He can't _not_ think about it. It's _all_ he can think about. Brent hates that hat with a passion.

'Ride 'em, Cowboy.' Brent wishes he wasn't thinking about lassos too.

=

Eleven-thirty.

Twelve.

Twelve-thirty.

Duncan's snoring.

Brent can't sleep. Not because of the snoring though, because he didn't jerk off. 'I can sleep without _that_.'

One.

One-thirty.

'I _can_.' Brent huffs and smooshes his pillow so it's balled up under his cheek. He closes his eyes.

Two.

He can't.

Brent rolls on to his side, the side facing Duncan's bed. ' _He_ does it.' Brent justifies it to himself. 'No reason I can't.'

_/Swish._

_/Swish._

_/Swish._

Brent's hand works up and down his cock. Long, slow, measured strokes. Just like Duncan does.

/ _Swish. Swish._

_/Swish._

_/SwishSwish._

There's a little bit of moonlight sneaking in through the opening in the curtains where they hadn't drawn them all the way. It paints a silvery pale glow across Duncan's face. Brent thinks it's…no. It's not anything he tells himself. It's just Duncan. In the moonlight. With a pale silvery glow illuminating his face. Illuminating his blue eyes so they look like little pinpricks of light. His eyes.

HIS EYES.

_Fuck._

Duncan's watching him. Duncan's watching Brent watching him. _Fuck._

Brent's hand stills. He watches as Duncan's arm moves. Watches as Duncan's sheet moves. Watches as the tip of Duncan's tongue slips out of his mouth and wets his lips.

_Swish._

_Swish._

_Swish._

Brent bites his lip and starts to stroke.

_Swish/Swish._

_Swish/Swish._

_SwishSwish/SwishSwish._

Brent can't stop looking. And he can't decide what he wants to look at more: Duncan's face or where Duncan's arm is moving under the sheet.

Brent settles on Duncan's face when Duncan's mouth drops open a little and these insanely quiet noises start spilling from his lips. Small grunts. Tiny groans. A curse here and there. Brent's just trying to breathe at this point. His wrist is stuttering. The _swish swish_ of the sheets is a mess. Staggered. Nothing close to in sync.

Duncan's just watching. Intensely. Hand moving. Grunting. He's getting faster. Duncan curses again. His hips twitch and _'Brent, come'_ whispers out of his mouth.

Brent bites his lip, closes his eyes, and fucking _whines_ as he comes.

Duncan follows a moment later with a much quieter groan.

=

They should talk about it, Brent thinks when they're eating breakfast the next morning, Duncan sitting at the hotel desk, Brent sitting cross-legged on his bed balancing a plate on his knee. "So…" Brent waves his fork around for a moment.

"Yeah?" Duncan mumbles around a bite of sausage. He's got the entire thing stabbed on his fork and he's taking another bite of the end and Brent's mouth goes a little dry.

'That's _not_ hot.' Brent coughs. 'No. _Nope_. He's eating a _sausage_.' Brent wonders for the millionth time what the fuck is his issue. "About last night." He manages before taking a big swig of juice.

"You mean the game?" Duncan takes another bite of sausage and never takes his eyes off Brent. "Or when you came when I told you to?"

Brent chokes on his juice. Well, that's blunt. "The, uh, the second thing." Brent says after he's pretty sure he isn't going to die at the hands of his orange juice.

"Yeah—that was pretty hot." Duncan finishes the sausage and takes a sip of his protein shake. "Pretty fucking hot."

Brent isn't sure what to say. He doesn't even know why he felt the need to even bring this up. Why couldn't he just leave it alone. "Uhh."

"Uhh…" Duncan repeats, mimicking Brent's word.

"I—" Brent takes a much smaller sip of juice this time. Just in case. "I don't—I don't know why I brought this up."

"Did you like it?" Duncan puts his fork down again and turns to face Brent completely.

"Well, yeah." Brent admits.

"Me too." Duncan stabs another sausage and goes to town on the tip.

"Is this—" Brent takes a moment to collect his thoughts. "Is this," he waves his hands in between the two of them knocking his plate off his knee in the process, "gonna be a thing?"

"Is what going to be a thing?" Duncan tilts his head in question. "The jerking off? Or like, us?"

Of course he'd ask. 'Why's he gotta _ask_?' "Either? Both? I don't _know_."

"Do you want it to be?"

This is the weirdest conversation he's had to date with Duncan, and hell, they've had some weird ones. "I think so?"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

=

Duncan jerks Brent off that night in Edmonton.

And when they get back home.

They're a thing now.

 


End file.
